Ioki looked up from the file in his hands and pulled a grimace. "I
have to finish this, before I leave."

"Don't be a jerk," Penhall retorted. "It's your birthday! Fuller isn't
gonna get on your case for turning in your paperwork a day late, when
he's waiting with the rest of the gang."

"I don't know..."

"Harry!" The door banged, and yet another pair of feet came clumping
up the wooden stairs. Judy Hoffs exploded into the Chapel in a swirl
of coattails and outrage. "Harry Ioki, what are you still doing
here?!"

"My job," he answered, somewhat testily.

"No, you're not." She reached over and flipped the file closed. "You
are officially off the job and off the clock, as of now. I have been
delegated by your coworkers - your very hungry coworkers - to
get you over to the pizza parlor in the next five minutes. No excuses!"

"Okay, okay."

He reached for the switch on his lamp and was about to flip it off,
when they all heard a strange rumbling sound that made them freeze in
apprehension. It seemed to come from the very walls, as though the old
building were groaning on its foundations, and a light dusting of plaster
sifted down on their heads. Suddenly, the lights flickered out.

Hoffs gave a soft hiss of fear, and Penhall grabbed her arm for reassurance.
"What the hell was that?" he demanded.

"An earthquake," Harry whispered.

"That's impossible!" Hoffs protested. "We've never had earthqu..."

"I know an earthquake when I feel it."

"Oh, God. I've got a bad feeling about this!"

"Don't panic, Jude," Penhall urged. "It couldn't have been a very big
one, and the Chapel is still standing. Let me get my flashlight, and
we'll clear outta here."

He made his way carefully through the pitch dark room, toward his desk.
After a moment of fumbling and muttering, the others saw a bright beam
stab through the darkness and illuminate Penhall's face. He grinned
at them. "All set!"

As if triggered by his words, the floor began to shudder again. Hoffs
screamed.

"Get under cover!" Ioki shouted, but she was too paralyzed by fear
to react.

The rumbling once more filled the air, growing louder and louder, accompanied
by a horrible creaking and smashing. The floor pitched wildly, throwing
Hoffs to her knees. She huddled against the buckling wooden planks,
listening to the world convulse around her. It wasn't stopping this
time. The heaving and shuddering only grew more violent, while pieces
of the ceiling crashed down all around her. She began muttering a prayer
under her breath.

With a protesting howl, one of the building's main support beams tore
loose from its mountings. The floor tilted crazily, and heavy objects
began sliding ominously toward some unseen vortex in the middle of the
room. Hoffs' feet lost purchase on the angled surface, and she landed
flat on her stomach, skidding toward the unseen hole.

"No! Doug! Harry! Help me!"

A hand closed around her wrist, stopping her slide, and Ioki's voice
reached her over the horrible cacophony. "I've got you!"

And still the earth moved. It seemed to go on for a lifetime - fear
stretching the seconds into eternity - with no respite from the destruction.
Another beam came down, along with most of the decorative wooden screens
that adorned the ceiling. A huge chunk of wood fell not three feet from
Hoffs, bringing another scream of pure terror from her. The floor sagged
and split, and she felt open air under her feet. Her body went into
free fall.

"Oh, God! Harry!"

"Hold on, Jude!"

Hoffs dangled over emptiness, nothing between her and a plunge into
darkness but the clasp of her partner's fingers around her wrist. "Don't
let go! Please!"

Ioki's answer was lost in the sound of splitting wood. The floor above
Hoffs' head folded in on itself, her partner's hand was torn loose from
hers, and her body plummeted downward. She heard the ominous sound of
bricks and wood being pulverized, even as she felt the rain of debris
all around her and knew that she was about to be buried alive. Then
her right foot landed on something solid, and the last thing she heard
was the sound of her own bone snapping. Pain exploded in her head, spinning
her into blackness.

*** *** ***

Captain Fuller crawled out from under the table and staggered to his
feet, calling, "Hanson? Blowfish?"

"Does motion sickness count?" Hanson scrambled out, followed closely
by Sal. Both men looked haggard in the faint moonlight pouring through
the remains of the window. Tom's eyes had grown so big that they seemed
to swallow his entire face. He looked around at the wreckage of what
had once been a friendly little restaurant in stunned silence.

Sal muttered, "Oh, man."

Shaking off his own paralytic shock, Fuller said in a bracing tone,
"Come on, guys, we have work to do. Tom, you start getting all these
people sorted out. Check for injuries and make sure everyone is accounted
for. Sal, I need you to shut off the gas main, then go through the kitchen
and turn off everything. If either of you find the manager, send him
to me. I'm going to see how badly the building is damaged, in case we
need to evacuate..."

"Captain." Hanson gripped his arm urgently, halting his move to leave.
"What about the Chapel?"

Fuller's face tightened. "We have responsibilities here."

"What if Penhall and the others were inside?"

"There's no way that old heap stood up to a quake this size," Blowfish
said.

"Then we'd better pray they weren't there," Fuller snapped, covering
his fear with anger, "because we can't abandon a building full of civilians
to go looking for them."

Hanson turned away, his mouth pressed into a hard, rebellious line.
He did not argue, but the smoldering look in his eyes told Fuller that
he neither agreed with his decision nor accepted it easily. Fuller couldn't
blame him. He felt exactly the same way.

"As soon as we're done here, we'll go," he assured the two scowling
young men, "so let's get busy."

*** *** ***

"Jude? Jude, are you all right?"

A bright beam of light stabbed into Hoffs' eyes, making her groan and
twist away. But the familiar voice kept calling her, refusing to let
her sink back into unconsciousness. She dragged her eyes open again
to find Doug Penhall bending over her in concern.

"Doug..."

He gave a sigh of relief and sat back on his heels. "You scared me."

"Where...where are we?"

"Near as I can figure, we're in the church basement, with most of the
building piled on top of us."

She let her eyes stray up to the buckled and split piece of floor that
served as a ceiling, hanging only a few feet above their heads, and
groaned again. Doug played the flashlight beam around, letting her see
that they were trapped in a veritable maze of fallen masonry, broken
beams, exposed pipes and shattered furniture. She couldn't see more
than six feet in any direction, without encountering another wall of
rubble.

"How are we going to get out?" she asked, in a terrified whisper.

Penhall took a long, long time to answer. "I don't know. I think I
know basically where the stairs are, but..."

"Don't say it. Doug, I think my leg is broken."

Penhall turned the light on her legs for a moment, then ground out,
"I'm damned well sure it is."

She didn't ask him how he knew.

He put on a brisk, businesslike manner and once more began playing
the light around. "First, I gotta find Ioki, then I gotta find those
stairs. Between the two of us, we'll get 'em clear." He favored Hoffs
with a pale imitation of his usual smile. "We'll get you outta this,
Beautiful. Count on it."

But mention of her partner had brought Hoffs' fear back in full force.
He'd been right above her when she fell! He should be close by! But
where?

"Harry?" she called, in a cracked, breathless voice. "Harry?!"

They both heard the sound of rubble shifting, then a familiar voice
answered, "I'm over here, Jude!"

Ioki obediently began talking, mostly about how he had planned to spend
his birthday before the earthquake so rudely interrupted it, while Penhall
used his flashlight to locate the source of the sound. He eventually
traced Ioki to a pile of rubble six or eight feet away. It formed a
rough wall, but it did not quite reach the ceiling. A gap of about a
foot separated the rubble from the floorboards above. Penhall crawled
over to the pile and shone his light at the hole.

"Can you see the light, Harry?"

"Yeah."

"You think you can fit through that hole?"

"I'll try."

"I gotta take the light away, man."

"Where are you going?"

"To look for a way out. I think I know which way we have to go, and
I want to do some exploring before..."

He broke off that thought, but Harry understood him clearly enough.
Unlike Hoffs and Penhall, he had experience with earthquakes, and he
knew that the aftershocks could come at any time. The faster they got
themselves out of this basement, the better chance they stood of surviving.
Penhall was only showing good sense.

"It's okay. I can climb through in the dark. Be careful, Doug!"

"You betcha. Listen, Iok, when you get over here stick close to Judy.
She's hurt, and I don't want her left alone."

"I will."

"Thanks, man. I'll be back as fast as I can." With that, he turned
away from the pile and made his way over to Hoffs. "I'm gonna look for
a way out. Harry's on his way, so you just hang tight. Okay?"

"Okay," she answered in a whisper. "Hurry back...please!"

"As fast as I can," he repeated. Then he gave her shoulder a quick
squeeze and headed into the maze, leaving an ominous, airless darkness
in his wake.

Hoffs stayed quiet for a few minutes, letting the noises Harry made
as he climbed around in the rubble act as a reassurance and anchor to
her. She didn't want to distract him, and she didn't want to betray
her fear. But it seemed to her overcharged senses as though he were
taking a ridiculously long time to get here.

"Harry?"

"I'm coming, Jude."

Hoffs heard the sound of feet scrabbling over loose masonry, but she
couldn't tell from the noises what, exactly, was happening. Ioki swore
softly, and something heavy shifted against the rubble. Then quiet.

"Harry? Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Hang on..."

"What's wrong?" Her voice had an edge of panic to it that she could
not control.

"It's a tight fit." He muttered something else, apparently aimed at
the detritus blocking his path, followed by the distinct sound of tearing
fabric. "Rats."

From the sounds that reached her, Hoffs guessed that he was sliding
down the pile and bringing a fair amount of it with him. She instinctively
covered her head with her arms and screwed her eyes shut against a fresh
cloud of dust. Suddenly, a new and ominous noise reached her - the clink
of stone striking metal.

Hoffs lifted her head, searching for the source of the noise, just
as an evil hissing filled the air. There was a strange popping sound,
the hiss became a howl, and Ioki gave a startled gasp. In the next instant,
his body hit the ground with a solid thud, and he let out a nerve-shattering
cry of pain that tore an echoing cry from Hoffs.

"Harry?!" She twisted around to drag herself over the cluttered floor,
oblivious to the flare of agony in her leg. "Harry, answer me!!"

He did not answer, but she had no trouble locating him in the total
darkness. His every breath was a ragged moan that set her teeth on edge
and brought tears to her eyes. It took her frustrating moments to navigate
the distance between them, during which she alternately called to her
partner and screamed for Penhall at the top of her lungs. As she drew
closer to Ioki, she could feel a hot mist in the air, collecting on
her skin and turning the dust to slime. Then she understood. The steam
pipe had burst.

At last, she reached her partner where he lay at the base of the rubble
heap. Her frantic hand brushed his shoulder, then his hair. "Talk to
me, Harry, please! Please!! Damn it, Harry! Don't do this to
me!"

She fastened her hands in the front of his jacket and pulled with a
strength born of terror. Ioki's deadweight shifted toward her, and then
he was lying across her lap, clutched tightly in her arms so that she
could feel him shuddering convulsively. Her hold on him tightened, and
she began to sob in combined fear and pain.

"Oh, God," she moaned.

"Hoffs!"

The call came from a distance, off to her right. She turned to see
the beam of the flashlight bouncing from point to point, as Penhall
scrambled and crawled through an obstacle course of fallen beams to
reach her.

Penhall finally crossed the last barrier that separated him from his
teammates. He crawled on hands and knees toward the sound of Hoffs'
voice, following her tearful cries till the flashlight beam touched
her face. At the sight of her, he swore viciously and almost threw himself
across the last few yards of floor.

"God, Jude, what happened?! I heard..." He broke off, unwilling to
voice exactly what he had heard, but Hoffs' agonized moan told him that
she knew what had brought him back so precipitously. His flashlight
moved over her, to freeze on the figure huddled against her.

Ioki lay with his head in the crook of her arm and his hands covering
his face. In the harsh light, the stain of blood on his fingers showed
glaringly red. His teeth were clenched in an effort to stifle the cries
that rose to choke him and maintain some vestige of control, but his
entire body shook in reaction, and his breath came in ragged sobs.

For a hideous moment, neither of his teammates moved or spoke. Then
Penhall broke the stasis by offering the flashlight to Hoffs and whispering,
gently, "Hold this, Jude."

She obediently disentangled the fingers of her left hand from Ioki's
jacket and took the flashlight.

When Penhall clasped Ioki's wrists to pull his hands away, Ioki reacted
violently. He tried to wrench away from Penhall, turning his face into
Hoffs' shoulder and crying, "No!"

Penhall tightened his grip. Slowly but irresistibly, he forced the
other man's hands down and away from his face. Ioki fought him with
desperate strength, but Penhall had the advantage of weight, leverage
and pure muscle.

With Ioki's hands pinned to his midriff, Penhall leaned close to whisper,
"It's okay, pal. It's just me."

Ioki made another futile attempt to break away, then tilted his head
back and sobbed, "No...god, it hurts it hurts it hurts... Doug! Doug!"

"Shh. I'm right here. I've just...I've gotta see what you did to yourself,
Iok. You've gotta hold still! Come on, man. Hold still...hold still...It's
okay. Shh." He lifted his head and hissed at Judy, "The light! Hurry!"

She gave a start, as she realized that the flashlight was shining uselessly
toward the ceiling. Struggling to control the shaking in her hands,
she angled the beam to fall on her partner's face. As the light touched
him, both she and Penhall gave simultaneous gasps of pain.

"What the hell happened?" Doug choked out.

"The pipe burst." Her voice broke on a sob.

"It looks like...burns."

"Steam burns. But where is the blood coming from?"

"He's torn 'em open."

"No...Oh, God, Doug! There's metal in some of those cuts!"

Before Penhall could answer her, Ioki tore his hands free and lifted
them toward his face. Penhall snatched at his wrists again, shouting,
"No! Harry, don't!"

With another shattering cry, Ioki twisted away from him so violently
that he rolled out of Hoffs' grip and pitched onto the floor.

"Harry!" Judy screamed.

Doug made a grab for him but missed, and he landed hard, face down
in a jagged, filthy pile of rubble.

Penhall bent over his teammate and caught his shoulders. When he tried
to turn him over, Ioki resisted. "Let me help, Iok. Please." Once again,
Penhall's superior strength prevailed, and he lifted the smaller man's
body with surprising gentleness.

Hoffs waited until Penhall had him cradled securely in his arms, then
she slid closer to the two men and shone the light on Harry's face.
This time, Ioki made no attempt to fight Penhall's restraint. He lay
brokenly against the larger man, while bouts of vicious shivering tore
through him every few seconds. His eyes were closed, and oddly dark
tears trickled from beneath his lashes. A soft, chilling moan rose in
his throat, but he clenched his teeth and ruthlessly swallowed the agonized
sound.

Judy rested her free hand on his rumpled, dust-caked hair. "You don't
have to fight it, Harry," she whispered. "Scream, if you need to."

His little sob of laughter told her that he had heard, but he only
turned his head away and clenched his teeth a little more tightly.

She leaned over to rest her cheek against his forehead for a moment,
and murmured, "It's okay, sweetie."

"No, it... Ungh! ...hurts, Jude. It hurts."

"I know. I'm sorry."

His entire body stiffened, as a gasp of pain was wrenched out of him.
He took a ragged breath, let it out on a moan of pure agony, then began
to cry in earnest.

Penhall gathered him up, cradling his shaking shoulders in one arm
and supporting his head with the other hand, and held his friend tightly
against his own body in a protective, comforting gesture.

"Happy Birthday, pal," he muttered, in a voice rough with pain.

*** *** ***

Tom Hanson scrambled through the wreckage, the knot in his stomach
growing tighter with every minute that passed. He forced himself to
maintain control, to move with care over the treacherous ground, while
a panicked voice in the back of his mind screamed at him to hurry...hurry...
But he would do no one any good, if he put a foot wrong and found himself
up to his armpits in broken floorboards. Fighting down his panic, he
continued picking his way around what remained of the Chapel, moving
slowly but inexorably toward the parking lot in the rear.

The violent north-south motion of the quake had dumped large quantities
of rubble into the narrow driveway that had once separated the old church
from the warehouse next door. The warehouse still stood - barely - but
the driveway was now nearly indistinguishable from the church itself,
being nothing but a mountain of shattered bricks and torn beams. Hanson
chose it as route to the back of the building, because it had solid
pavement under it, instead of a basement and a wrecked foundation. He
didn't relish getting this close to the sagging, drunken side of the
warehouse, but he preferred it to the north end of the lot, where Blowfish
hunted for the gas main in the shadow of the Chapel's single remaining
wall. That teetering stack of bricks and mortar only stayed vertical
because it had fallen against the building immediately beside it, and
with aftershocks coming every few minutes, it could crumble at any time.

Another tremor hit, and Hanson instinctively dropped to his knees,
his arms up to shield his head. The shaking stopped as quickly as it
had started, but it took Tom a few minutes to recover his breath and
his nerve. The loose bricks shifted beneath his boots, as he staggered
to his feet again. A quick glance at the north wall, to reassure himself
that it was still intact, a swipe of his sweating palms against his
pant legs, then he set off again.

Tom breathed a sigh of relief, as his feet touched asphalt and he found
himself in the relatively clear space of the parking lot. Thanks to
the direction of the ground's movement, little rubble had fallen here.
The exterior staircase now lay on the pavement, with a pile of masonry
around it, but the bulk of the wall had collapsed inward.

In the fitful moonlight, Hanson could navigate the parking lot fairly
easily. He skirted around the truncated remains of the back wall, hopped
over a piece of the stairway, and came to a dead stop. There, directly
in front of him, was Doug Penhall's truck. He simply stared at it for
a long, slow minute, unable to process what he saw or come to grips
with the implications of it. Then he tore his gaze away and looked around
for the other two cars, praying that one of them, at least, would be
missing. Maybe then he could hold onto the slim hope that his friends
had gotten out of the building alive. The sight of the Deuce and Hoffs'
red Volkswagen, parked side-by-side and half buried under fallen bricks,
brought a murmur of pain from him.

"Captain!" he shouted. "They're here!"

The next few hours blurred together into a nightmare. As the rain clouds
thickened and the moonlight faded, the three men climbed ceaselessly
through the rubble, hunting for some sign of their missing friends and
struggling not to let their fear get the better of them. Fuller managed
to reach the dispatcher on his mobile phone, but any hope that emergency
crews would arrive in time to help quickly died. They were on their
own, and they had nothing but their bare hands and a couple of flashlights
to work with. But none of them would admit that their friends were dead
or that the building had defeated them. They would search until they
had turned over every last brick.

Tom lay flat on a ragged section of roofing and shone his flashlight
into a large hole, oblivious to the rain that ran down his collar and
plastered the hair to his forehead. He'd located the stump of a main
support beam jutting out of the wreckage, and with a few minutes' work,
had uncovered a gap in the topmost layer of debris. For the first time
in this endless, agonizing night, he got a glimpse into the carcass
of the old building.

After a few moments of playing his flashlight beam around, he lifted
his head and called, "Captain! Come take a look at this!"

Fuller came scrambling over to him, with Blowfish hard on his heels.
"Did you find something?" Fuller demanded.

"Sort of. Look."

The captain hesitated for a moment, reluctant to peer into that black
opening. Then Tom shot him an impatient glance, and he pushed aside
his morbid fears. "What is it?"

"This hole goes right down to the basement, and look. There's the coke
machine lying down there."

"How did it get into the basement?" Blowfish asked. "That's two stories
down from the Chapel."

"Fell through the hole?" Hanson offered.

Fuller nodded thoughtfully. "If that beam ripped a hole in the floor,
anything could have fallen through. Or anyone." His eyes met Hanson's
squarely, and he saw a gleam of hope in their brown depths. "The basement
has solid concrete walls. If they held together..."

"...and if they propped up some of the collapsed floors..." the younger
man murmured.

"...and if any of them actually made it down there alive... That's
an awful lot of ifs, Tom."

"But it's a chance! Some kind of chance!" Hanson jumped to his
feet and started down the rubble heap toward the parking lot. "And it
gives us a place to start!"

Fuller hesitated for one more second, then sighed and stood up. Offering
a hand to Sal, he said, tiredly, "Let's get started clearing those stairs."

* * *

Doug let his head fall back against the pile of debris behind him and
closed his eyes in exhaustion. He ached in every bone and muscle, his
throat felt as though it had been gone over with a rasp, and every time
the ground twitched he thought the pounding of his heart would burst
his ribcage, but in spite of his physical and mental misery, all he
wanted to do was sleep. A pleasant numbness began creeping into his
brain, dulling the edge of his fear. His breathing slowed. His muscles
went slack. He slipped into a light doze. And then an aftershock hit.

The movement jerked him roughly awake and set his pulse racing. He
automatically tightened his hold on the still body on his arms, hunching
over to protect his teammate from the debris that sifted down on them,
and muttered a quick, useless prayer - about the hundredth he'd offered
that night. When the tremor stopped, Doug straightened up and brushed
some of the powdered brick off of his head and shoulders.

Bending close to Ioki, he murmured, "It's cool, Harry. Shaking's stopped."
Ioki gave no sign that he heard. He had not reacted to the aftershock,
which made Penhall suspect that he'd passed out again, but it was hard
to tell. He had not moved or spoken in so many hours, even when obviously
awake and in pain, that Penhall couldn't be sure whether he was completely
unconscious or just too out of it to notice anymore.

At least he knew that Hoffs wasn't hurting. For an interminable time,
he had struggled to reassure her, while she tossed and muttered in agony,
called for him, demanded light to see his face, and insisted that he
keep talking. He could do nothing about her thirst, cold or pain, but
he could keep her from feeling alone. And that had seemed to be all
she really wanted. But finally, shock and blood loss had gotten the
better of her, and she had sunk beyond the reach of her body's torment.

Doug groped for his flashlight, switched it on, and turned the beam
on Hoffs' unconscious form. She lay close beside him, half curled on
her side with his flannel shirt folded under her head as a pillow and
his biker jacket tucked around her for warmth. The jacket also covered
her head, forming a shield for her face, and it was now coated with
a thick layer of debris. Doug flipped it back to get a good look at
her. Her breathing was shallow and irregular, her skin clammy, her lips
bloodless. Even with his limited medical knowledge, Penhall could tell
that she was running out of time.

As he adjusted the jacket again and switched off the light, Penhall
felt his own loneliness rise to choke him, tinged with claustrophobic
panic. He wished that Ioki would wake up and talk to him - he needed
another voice, another presence, to hold back the suffocating darkness
- but Harry didn't want to cope with reality anymore than Doug did,
and he had a better excuse for avoiding it. Doug would just have to
stick this one out alone.

Settling himself back against the pile of rubble, and checking to be
sure Ioki's head still rested securely in the hollow of his shoulder,
Penhall closed his eyes. Exhaustion got the better of him, in spite
of his fear, and he began to drift off in the middle of composing a
letter to the Chief of Police, complaining about the lousy working conditions
at the Chapel.

Faint, troubling noises disturbed Doug's sleep, but he couldn't tell
if they were real or part of his uneasy dreams. He heard the distant
wail of sirens, muffled shouts, strange knockings and bangings. At one
point, he imagined he heard Tom Hanson's voice calling him, but his
traumatized, distrustful mind refused to believe it, and he slept on.
Even when he heard the scrape of booted feet on concrete, he tried to
ignore it. It was just a trick of the dying building, a phantom noise
sent to torment him with false hopes. He would not be fooled.

"Doug!"

The blessedly familiar voice rang clear and unmistakable in his ears.
As his brain limped back to consciousness, drawn by his partner's call,
a dazzling light fell on his closed eyelids.

"Doug, wake up!"

A hand touched his face, then moved to the pulse point beneath his
jaw. He heard a sob of relief. Very slowly, he dragged his eyes open,
squinting against the light. And there, right in front of his eyes,
was the most amazing and beautiful sight Doug had ever seen in his life...Tom
Hanson.

As their eyes met, Tom blinked back sudden tears. "Hey, Partner."

"Hey, Tom," Doug whispered. "I knew you'd come."

*** *** ***

Penhall sat in the tiny room, listening to the hypnotic beep of the
monitors and watching Hoffs sleep. He could barely keep his eyes open,
but he refused to go back to his own room for the night. He needed to
be close to his teammate, where he could remind himself that he was
not alone. It seemed, no matter how warm the room or soft the bed, no
matter how many times he told himself that he was safe in the hospital
and not trapped in the smothering darkness beneath a decimated building,
that he could not shake that cold, gut-wrenching dread. He needed to
be within touching distance of his injured friend, just as he had through
the hours in the basement, only now it was for his sanity, not hers.

Help had almost come too late for Judy. By the time the paramedics
had lifted her from the rubble, she was more dead than alive. And Tom's
descriptions of what had gone on in the ambulance made Doug's blood
run cold with fear. But she had made it here alive, and she had come
through surgery. And Doug intended to make sure that she did not wake
up in this place alone.

Footsteps sounded on the linoleum. Penhall glanced up to find Fuller
and Hanson standing just inside the door, dressed in standard blue uniforms.
Doug raised his eyebrows at them.

"What's up?"

"We're on duty," Fuller explained. "We just stopped by to check on
you."

"In your blues?"

"Everybody's in blues, right now. They need any cop who can walk out
on the streets."

"Does that include me?"

"No." Fuller's face softened. He could see the exhaustion and stress
in Penhall's face, and he understood the compulsion that kept him here,
beside Hoffs, when he so patently belonged in a hospital bed of his
own. "I've arranged for you to stay here for a couple of days, at least,
for observation. When they release you, go see Dr. Elliott, the Department
psychiatrist."

Penhall's eyes widened. "How come?"

"Briody and I agree that the best thing for you is to stick close to
Hoffs and Ioki, right now. They need somebody they can rely on for moral
support, and you need to be there for them. I've briefed Elliott, and
he's agreed to keep you off duty 'til both of you feel you're ready
to go back."

"So, it goes on my record that I'm bonkers?"

"No, it goes on your record that you're suffering from shock, in the
wake of your ordeal during the quake. That's perfectly believable...and
probably true."

"Captain, why are you...why are you going to so much trouble to keep
me off the streets?"

"Because you need the rest. I don't want you out there, in the middle
of all that chaos, after what you've been through. And because I don't
want Judy and Harry left alone."

Penhall blinked back unwelcome tears. Maybe the captain was right,
and he was suffering some kind of stress reaction. It seemed he couldn't
control his emotions anymore. "Have you been talking to the doctors?"

"Yes."

He reached out to touch Judy's arm with gentle fingers. "How bad is
it?"

"It looks like they're both going to make it. I think we need to be
grateful for that and not worry about the rest."

"Tell me the truth, Cap'n."

Fuller sighed. "She really did a job on her leg, both in the fall and
afterward, and they don't know if they can reconstruct it properly.
She was too weak for them to keep her in surgery any longer than necessary.
When she's stronger, they'll try again, but there are no guarantees."

"Which means what?"

"She could lose the use of her leg."

"Aww, man..." Penhall ducked his head to hide fresh tears from his
captain.

"Don't assume the worst, Penhall. She may come through this just fine."

"I shouldn't have left her," he mumbled into his sleeve, his eyes squeezed
tightly shut. "I shoulda stayed right with her, made sure she didn't
hurt herself."

"Doug." Hanson moved up to his friend's side and placed a calming hand
on his shoulder. "Take it easy."

"I left them. I thought I could find a way out, so I took the light
and I left...God, Tom, I should never have left them like that!"

"It wasn't your fault."

"She wouldn't have tried to move around, if I'd been there. And Harry..."
He broke off and pressed his lips together, waging a silent battle with
himself for control. When he could trust his voice again, he asked,
without lifting his head, "Is he out of surgery?"

"Yes." Tom's hand tightened on his shoulder, and Doug knew that his
partner was anticipating his next words. When none came, Tom murmured,
"They wouldn't let us see him. He's still under the anesthetic."

Doug nodded, still silent. He could feel the tension gathering in the
room, as both Hanson and Fuller wondered at his reticence and waited
on eggshells for him to ask the inevitable question. But Doug didn't
need to ask. He already knew. He'd been in that basement with Harry,
held him tight against the pain for interminable hours, lifted him onto
the stretcher himself, ridden next to him in the ambulance, cradled
his head between his hands when he fought the paramedics and whispered
reassurances in his ear to calm his panic. There was absolutely nothing
his captain or his partner could tell Doug that he had not already seen
with his own eyes. And the last thing he wanted - for himself or for
them - was to put them through the strain of telling him what he already
knew.

When the silence had dragged on to the point of pain, Fuller cleared
his throat to break it. "Penhall..." he ventured, in a rasping voice.

Doug's head came up. He turned a somber gaze on Fuller and said, before
the other man could continue, "I'll go check on 'im, soon as I'm sure
Jude is okay."

"They won't let you in his room."

"Yeah, they will. Don't worry about Ioki, guys. I'll handle his doctors,
and I'll be there when he wakes up. You can count on me."

"I know we can. Listen, Doug," Fuller sucked in an unsteady breath
and blurted out, "Harry was hurt a lot worse than we thought. You need
to be prepared."

Penhall waited until his colleagues were gone, until he could face
the doctors alone and on his own terms, then he left Hoffs' room and
went in search of Ioki. He found him nearby, in another part of the
ICU that was more private than Judy's curtained enclosure. They had
put him in an isolation room, with glass walls that shut out noise and
stray germs but allowed the staff to see in. To Doug, it looked like
an enormous aquarium. He instantly hated it and told the doctor so,
in no uncertain terms.

Dr. Travis just smiled and told him to be patient. "It should only
be for a day - two at the most."

"Why's he up here, anyway? I thought he wasn't in any danger."

"No immediate danger, but injuries like his are complicated, both physically
and emotionally. We need to monitor him for infection, and we need to
get an accurate assessment of his mental state. Until we're sure he's
out of the woods on both counts, he will be under constant observation."

"I guess that makes sense. It just doesn't seem...fair."

Travis quirked a half smile at him. "I know what you mean."

Penhall turned to gaze through the glass door at his teammate, and
he felt his heart turn over. Harry looked so small and fragile, with
all the tubes and tape and machines everywhere, and his hands lying
still on the blanket like that - palm up, the fingers curled slightly,
like a sleeping child's. One stray lock of hair fell over his forehead
and trailed across the heavy, bloodstained dressings that covered his
eyes. Doug had an overwhelming urge to push it back into place, to smooth
the rumpled strands into some kind of order, just so he'd look more
like himself...not so young...so broken...lying against that stark white
pillow with his incredibly black hair all in a mess around his face...the
cuts and burns looking so fiercely painful...and the bandages...

Doug felt tears sliding down his cheeks, but he made no move to wipe
them away. He was only vaguely aware of the doctor still beside him
and didn't give a damn what the other man thought of his emotional display.
All he wanted, at that moment, was to see Harry's face - all of it -
without any gauze or tape in the way. Maybe then he wouldn't feel so
lost, as if someone had taken away his friend and left this strange,
battered, broken child in his place. He needed Harry back, just as he
needed Judy close by him, and he didn't care how badly damaged his face
was if he could only see it.

He knew what those bandages covered. He'd seen the bloody tears running
from beneath Harry's lashes...and worse. Nothing could shock him. But
this strangeness, this sense of loss and separation, brought his panic
bubbling to the surface again. He took a shaking breath and pressed
his palms flat against the glass.

In a voice that barely carried past his own lips, he whispered, "I'm
comin', Iok. I'll be there, I promise, you just gotta trust me."

* * *

"Harry? Can you hear me? It's Doug." He reached over the chrome rail
and touched Harry's right hand, where it lay on the blanket. "C'mon,
pal. It's okay to wake up."

Harry's fingers closed loosely around Doug's, bringing a wide smile
to the cop's tired, lined face. With his free hand, Doug brushed that
annoying lock of hair out of the way, then rested his hand on Ioki's
head and murmured, "Thanks, man."

Penhall glanced up as Dr. Travis entered the room. The doctor moved
around to the far side of the bed where all the machinery stood, with
the duty nurse on his heels, and started fiddling with things. Doug
watched him only long enough to assure himself that Travis didn't intend
to do anything stupid - like open his mouth - then he turned his attention
back to his half-conscious friend.

"I been waiting for you to wake up," he said, mostly to mask the sound
of Travis' movements. "It's kinda lonely around here, with nobody to
talk to."

Ioki stirred slightly, and his clasp on Doug's hand tightened.

Doug continued, in his most cajoling tone, "Jude's asleep, and you're
asleep, and Fuller and Hanson are off playing cop. I don't even have
a pack of cards to keep me busy."

"Doug?"

"Yeah."

Harry turned to orient on his voice, then he smiled fractionally and
whispered, in a slurred, sleepy, disconnected way, "Doug. You're here."

"In the flesh. You take it easy, man, and don't try to talk."

"...thought you wanted s...someone to talk..." His words faded out,
as though he had fallen asleep in the middle of his sentence. His hand
went slack.

Penhall shot a startled look at Travis. "Don't worry," the doctor murmured,
"he's bound to drift in and out a bit. He's still mostly anesthetized."

Dr. Travis' prediction proved true, and Harry spent the next hour or
so fading back and forth between waking and sleeping, never completely
one or the other. Each time he woke up, he'd greet Penhall in that fuzzy,
cheerful way, not remembering that he'd spoken to him just a few minutes
before. Then, after having time to do no more than mumble a few words
to his teammate, he'd drift off again.

Doug found it oddly comforting. Harry was obviously feeling no pain
and was glad to have him there. The trusting way he held Doug's hand
and smiled at him, when he realized yet again that his friend was there,
brought all of Penhall's protective instincts to the fore. He wished
that this period of sleepy acceptance didn't have to end - that Harry
didn't have to come back to ugly reality - until Doug had found a way
to make it all go away.

Make it all go away...that was a hell of a pipe dream, a hell of a
goal to set for himself. 'You never learn, do you?' he thought, bitterly.
'Always gotta be the hero! Always gotta screw it up somehow. That's
what got you into this mess to start with. Running off to save the day,
instead of lookin' after your buddies. Now one of 'em's crippled, and
the other one's...never gonna forgive you.'

Harry stirred again and gave a small sigh that had an echo of pain
in it. This time, he didn't wait for Penhall to speak first, but called,
softly, "Doug?"

"Right here."

The crimson and white gaze tracked over to his face, and Doug knew,
with a sudden lurch of fear, that Harry was really awake this time.
"I thought...you'd gone."

"I'm not going anywhere." Penhall reached up to smooth the midnight
hair back from Ioki's forehead. "Just relax." After another moment of
watching his friend's face, he asked, "You need somethin' for the pain?"

"Ngh...no. Doug, we're...we're in the hospital, aren't we?"

"Yeah."

"Judy?"

"Judy, too. She's right down the hall."

Harry took a moment to digest this news, while the pain lines in his
face deepened and his hold on Doug's hand grew more desperate. Doug
was trying to come up with something to say, to break the silence, when
Harry drew in a long, ragged breath and whispered, "I remember...some
of it."

"Shh. Don't, okay? Just...let it go for now."

"Is it as bad as I remember?"

Penhall couldn't quite smother a soft grunt of pain. He felt as though
someone had kicked him in the solar plexus. For a frantic minute, he
wished Travis were here to help him - tell him what to say - but the
doctor had left an hour ago, and Penhall was on his own...Penhall the
screw-up.

What the hell was he supposed to do? He had strict orders not to discuss
his medical condition with Ioki, but he also had strict orders not to
upset him. And nothing was guaranteed to upset Ioki faster than lying
to him or dodging questions! But, if he said the wrong thing...

It took him only a fraction of a second to decide. And amazingly, his
voice sounded completely even when he answered, "Yeah, Iok, I'm afraid
it is."

"I can't see you." He lifted his left hand to brush the bandage that
covered his eyes, but Penhall caught it and pulled it away, before he
could touch any of the raw cuts or burns on his face. "Is it because
of the bandages?"

"No."

A tremor of fear passed through Ioki's body. "Take them off."

"I can't do that. You're just gonna have to live with 'em, for now."

"No! No...Doug!" Ioki tried to wrench his hands free, but Penhall held
on tightly and pushed him firmly back against the mattress. "Doug, please!
I don't want them...take them off! Please!"

Ioki collapsed into his pillow, going suddenly limp. When Doug eased
his grip on his hands, Ioki pulled them free and drew his arms protectively
against his body, twisting onto his side with his back to the other
man. His breath came in ragged sobs, edged with pain, and his shoulders
began to shake.

Penhall watched him for a moment, his own eyes stinging with tears,
then murmured, "It's gonna be okay. We're gonna get through this - you,
me and Jude - together."

"You can't." Ioki tried to say something else, but it came out as a
sob. Turning his face into the pillow, he curled up in a tight knot
of pain and began to cry.

Penhall clasped his shoulder in an attempt at comfort, but at his touch,
Ioki flinched sharply away from him. Defeated, Penhall could only sit
with his hands lying helplessly in his lap and watch his friend's silent,
tearless weeping, while tears streamed down his own cheeks. The nurse
found him there an uncounted time later, still sitting, staring through
a sheen of tears at the back of Ioki's head.

"Officer Penhall? You asked me to tell you when Detective Hoffs was
awake."

"Judy?" His brain struggled to throw off it's paralysis and think again,
while he blinked stupidly at the nurse. "Awake?"

"She's starting to come around."

He glanced back at Harry, wondering what to do. "Iok..." Harry did
not betray, by so much as a breath, that he heard. "I have to go. I'm
sorry, man. I don't want to leave you alone, but I have to be there
for Judy, too." When he still received no sign that Harry was listening,
he sighed and got to his feet. "I'm only a shout away, if you need me.
Take it easy, pal."

Then he trudged out of the room to face yet another awakening.

Penhall found Hoffs in a kind of twilight state, brought on by anesthetics
and heavy pain medication. She tossed restlessly against her pillow,
trying to find a position that would afford her some ease, and muttered
to herself. After the incredibly difficult scene he'd just endured with
Harry, Doug didn't have any reserves left to cope with this. He slumped
into the chair and fixed his eyes on his friend's pain-lined face, his
own agony pushed back behind his exhaustion and guilt and sense of failure,
back where he wouldn't have to confront it. In this half-numb, half-tormented
state, he waited for Hoffs to wake up so he could try, yet again, to
salvage something from the wreckage.

When Hoffs at last dragged her eyes open, she found Doug Penhall asleep
in the chair beside her. She watched him for a moment, her eyes glassy
with pain and clouded with confusion, trying to remember how she'd gotten
here and why Doug was in attendance - dressed in a hospital gown and
robe. Then she reached over to touch his sleeve.

"Penhall?"

His eyes fluttered reluctantly open to fix on her face. Suddenly, he
lurched upright in his chair. "Jude! What...? Aww, man, I fell asleep.
I wanted to be here when you woke up."

"You are here," she pointed out.

He grinned in spite of himself and caught her outstretched hand in
both of his. On an impulse, he bent to plant a kiss on the back of it.
"I can't tell you how great it is to see those gorgeous brown eyes open
and smiling at me."

"Am I?" She giggled again, a note of hysteria in the sound. "Is that
why ev...mmh...every time I try to cry, it comes out as a laugh?"

"Yeah."

"Doug..." He dropped another kiss on her hand and squeezed it hard,
telling her that he was listening. "It really...does hurt!"

"I know."

"And I'm really scared..."

"It's okay. You don't have to be scared anymore."

Her eyes closed once again. "Thank you. My hero."

Penhall shuddered at her choice of words, but managed to say, warmly,
"Get some sleep, Jude. I'll be here, if you need anything."

"...always here when I...need you..." She appeared to drift off, but
suddenly she asked, in a strong voice, "Is Harry okay?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, good. I was worried about him."

"Don't worry. I'll take care of everything."

"You give my partner a big kiss from me," she murmured, as she once
again settled down to sleep. "Tell him to...come see me..."

"I think we'll pass on the kiss."

Hoffs chuckled. A pause, then she said, "Doug? When we get outta here,
let's move someplace where they don't have earthquakes. All three of
us...go someplace safe...you, me and Harry...we can...can open a bowling
alley."

"Sounds like Hanson's dream job."

"We'll invite him, too. He can...polish the balls."

"Yeah? What am I gonna do?"

"Security," she mumbled, with a smile, "and I'll be the manager."

"Of course. What about Iok?"

"Hmmm...handle the money. And serve drinks. He'd get the biggest tips,
anyway...him and Hanson...bring in all the single women..."

Penhall shook his head in wry amusement. "Just what Ioki's always wanted
to be...a cocktail waitress."

"He'll do it. For me."

"Then you better ask him, next time you see 'im. I'm damned if I will,"
he added ruefully. Judy Hoffs stoned out of her gourd was turning out
to be a novel experience. "Now, quit talking and go to sleep."

"I want to see Harry."

"Later."

"Please...tell him I want to see him...?"

Doug hesitated, then lied, smoothly, "He's asleep."

"When he wakes up, then...you'll tell him..."

"I'll tell him. I promise."

Another smile tilted Judy's lips, and she gave a contented sigh. A
second later, she slept.

Penhall spent the rest of that interminable day moving from one room
to the other, trying to give both of his friends his undivided attention,
while weak with exhaustion himself. He finally fell asleep in the chair
beside Ioki's bed, and the hospital personnel conspired not to disturb
him 'til he'd slept himself out. The ICU duty nurse, Sarah, slipped
a pillow behind his head and draped a blanket over him, smothering the
impulse to plant a kiss on his forehead.

She had watched him jolly Hoffs out of a crying jag and hold her hand
through a fit of the shakes, then come in here and murmur steady reassurances
to Ioki while the doctor cleaned and dressed the cuts on his face. The
minute he had weathered one crisis, he hurried to the next. Hoffs clung
to him like a lifeline. Ioki barely acknowledged his presence. But both
of them waited tensely for the sound of his footsteps in the hallway,
and neither could relax and draw an even breath 'til he sat beside them.
To an experienced eye like Sarah's, it was clear that something more
than concern for his friends drove Penhall to such lengths, but it was
equally clear that these three people were bound very strongly to one
another. The trust his injured friends placed in him spoke volumes for
the kind of man he was.

They all survived the day, and dusk brought reinforcements. Hanson
and Fuller traipsed into the hospital, looking grim and exhausted, and
headed straight for Penhall's room. Of course, he wasn't there, but
Hoffs was awake and delighted to see them - if a little groggy and prone
to tears. Dr. Travis had strictly banned them from visiting Ioki, so
they settled in to keep Hoffs company 'til Penhall surfaced. When he
finally did, both Hanson and Fuller were shocked by his appearance.

Fuller snagged him as he came in the door to Judy's room, catching
his arm and guiding him back outside. In the relative privacy of the
hallway, he demanded, "Where have you been, Penhall? What have you been
doing to yourself?"

"I've been doing what you told me to do...looking after my teammates."

"Doug, you need some rest."

"I'm okay, Cap'n. I got a little sleep this afternoon."

"Where? In a laundry cart? The nurse says you haven't been in your
room all day."

"I took a nap in Ioki's room."

Fuller looked taken aback. "They let you in there? Travis told us..."

"I told you that I could handle the doctors," Penhall interrupted,
bluntly. "No offense, Captain, but I've spent the last twenty-four hours
trying to keep Jude and Harry from coming unglued, and I don't need
a lecture from you to top it off!"

The captain laid a calming hand on his shoulder and let his voice drop
to a murmur. "No lectures. I appreciate what you're doing, and I know
it's hard to...to see them like this. But you won't do them any good,
if you put yourself into Intensive Care." Switching tracks, before Doug
could prolong the argument, he said, "We've been talking to Hoffs. She's
a little ragged, but she seems to be holding up okay."

"It comes and goes." Penhall shot a grim look through the open door,
his eyes reflecting his anguish as they touched the woman in the bed.
"I don't know what they're giving her for the pain, but it's got her
so whacked-out she can hardly remember her own name. She's still hurting,
but she doesn't notice most of the time."

"Have you told her about Harry?"

Doug shook his head. "I don't know how. She's...she's so fragile right
now, with the drugs and everything, it's like her feelings are all right
up front. I'm afraid of what it'll do to her." He gave a sob of laughter
and whispered, "She's talking about moving to the Mid-West and opening
a bowling alley! She wants the three of us to go somewhere safe! Run
a business together! Can you believe that? How'm I supposed to ruin
it by telling her the truth?"

"I don't know if she's ready. I only know I don't have the guts to
tell her."

"Have you asked her doctor for advice?"

"Doctors? They always give the same advice...lie, lie, lie... Doc Travis
wanted me to lie to Iokage, and Travis is one of the good ones!"

"Did you?"

Penhall shot him a tearful, defensive look and snapped, "No!"

"Good. How is Harry doing?"

"Lousy. He won't talk to anybody - not even me - and he freaks out
if anyone touches him. Travis practically had to sedate him to change
the bandages. I've never seen him like..." Doug took a shaking breath
and tried to laugh at his own blunder, but it came out wrong. "Of course
I've never seen him like this."

"Can I help? Or Tom?"

Penhall shook his head. "Travis has put a lock-down on his room, 'til
he's moved out of ICU. The only reason they still let me in is 'cause
Iok won't let anyone else near 'im."

"It's good that he has someone he trusts close by."

Doug murmured a few words of agreement, but Fuller could see the doubt
and misery in his face. It started an unaccustomed ache in the Captain's
chest. This was killing Penhall - feeling responsible for his injured
colleagues and single-handedly trying to rescue them. As far as Fuller
could tell, Penhall was still trapped in the ruins of the Chapel, hunting
desperately for a way out. If something didn't give soon, he'd tear
himself apart.

"I'm going to sit with Hoffs," he informed Penhall, in his most level
and authoritative voice. "I want you and Hanson to go get some coffee.
Have dinner. Take a breather. You both need it."

"I can't..."

"You can, and you will. That's an order." In a softened tone, he added,
"Judy will be fine with me, and there's nothing much we can do for Harry
right now. So spend some time with your partner and unwind a little."

Doug capitulated. He didn't have much choice, and he didn't have the
energy to fight his captain. Hanson quickly agreed to join him. He followed
Penhall down the hallway, making no comment when they headed in the
opposite direction from the elevators and cafeteria. He had already
figured out where his partner was taking him and had no desire to stop
him.

Tom halted in front of the glass wall and gazed in disbelief at the
eerie scene on the other side. A blue-white light filled the small room,
bleaching all color out of it except the winking lights on the monitors
and the garish stains on the piece of gauze taped over Harry's eyes.
Everything else was colorless...lifeless...somehow unreal... Harry lay
curled up tightly on his side, his hands pulled close to his chest in
spite of the IV tubes running from his wrists, and his face half hidden
in the pillow. Only the faint movement of his breathing broke the total
stillness of the room.

Hanson watched him for a moment, then murmured so softly that Penhall
could barely hear him, "He knows, doesn't he."

"Yeah."

"How did you tell him?"

"Believe it or not, it was easier than lying."

Another silent minute, then Hanson spoke again. "Let's go, Doug."

Penhall shot him a bitter glance. "Can't stand to look?"

"I can't talk to you here," he answered, patiently.

With one more long look at Ioki, Penhall nodded acceptance and turned
away.

In the cafeteria, Hanson bought them both a good-sized meal, then located
a table in a private corner of the room. He sat down and started to
eat, but Penhall could do no more than pick at his food in a desultory
fashion. Hanson watched him with understanding eyes.

"You're still trying to rescue them, aren't you?" he asked.

Doug didn't answer. He simply stared at his plate, while his breathing
quickened and the fork in his hand trembled.

With a small sob, Penhall swept aside his plate and dropped his head
to the table, burying his face in his arms.

Hanson reached over to clasp his shoulder. "It's gonna be okay."

A muffled, tearful laugh answered him. "That's what I've been saying,
over and over again, like a broken record." Another laugh. "Now we're
both liars."

*** *** ***

Tom scooted the chair up closer to Judy's bed and leaned forward to
prop his forearms on the chrome rail. She turned to smile a welcome,
the expression at odds with the lines in her face and the tears starting
in her eyes. Her hand lifted to brush his arm, and he laid his own over
it, clasping her fingers warmly.

It was so hard to see her like this. So hard to meet those once-brilliant
eyes, now fogged with drugs and glazed with pain, set deep in bruised
shadows against her strangely colorless skin. She lay against a stack
of pillows, with every imaginable kind of medical paraphernalia strung
about her, a tube feeding oxygen into her nose and IV needles dripping
fluids into her arms. Her right leg was swathed in heavy bandages, tied
into a plastic splint, and propped carefully on pillows. Somehow, the
thing that troubled Tom the most was the sight of her bare toes sticking
out of the bandages. His eyes kept straying to those toes, wondering
if they were cold and whether or not he should pull a blanket over them.

"You look so tired, Tom," she whispered. "It must be awful out there."

He gave her a crooked smile that could not hide the exhaustion in his
eyes. "It is."

"Go home and rest."

"I'll rest better here." He tightened his hold on her fingers. "I'm
beginning to understand how Penhall feels, not wanting to get too far
away." A tear slid from the corner of Judy's eye, and Tom reached over
to wipe it away. "What's wrong, Jude?"

"Nothing, honest. It's the drugs. I just cry all the time...or laugh...or
say stupid stuff. Thinking about Penhall...makes me cry." She gave an
undignified sniff. "Where is he?"

"Getting some sleep, I hope."

"I know it's crazy, but I can't really relax without him here. The
poor guy...I don't give him any peace."

Tom gazed wistfully at her. "Will I do, in a pinch?"

"Of course you will. You're such a good friend, Tom...all of you guys
are...holding my hand and putting up with my tears..." She hesitated
for a moment, then added in a sullen tone, "I wish my partner would
do as much."

Tom looked startled. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I've been asking Harry to come see me since we got here, but
he won't."

"Jude, Harry's confined to quarters, same as you."

"He is?"

"Yeah, sure. What'd you think, that he was too busy playing Chinese
Checkers to visit his partner?"

"I don't know what I...I just... Why didn't Penhall tell me that?"
she demanded. "He kept saying that Harry was asleep or off with his
doctor, or some other lame excuse, instead of just telling me that he
wasn't up and around yet. What's the deal?"

"Cut Doug a little slack, okay? He doesn't have all his oars in the
water, at the moment. He probably didn't want you freaking out, because
Ioki's in ragged shape."

"Oh, please, I was there, remember?" Her sarcasm was as pronounced
as her earlier melancholy, and Tom knew the drugs were loosening her
tongue again. "I know Harry almost got his face blown off by
that steam pipe! I saw it! Of course he's in ragged shape!"

"Then... why are you so pissed that he hasn't been in to see you?"

"Well, Penhall kept saying he was fine. Every time I asked, he'd say
Harry was fine, great, no problem, he just had something better to do
than visit me. I was...I was beginning to wonder if I'd imagined the
whole thing..."

"You didn't imagine it. He did almost get his face blown off."

Tom's dour tone drew her gaze to him, and for the first time, the drug-induced
cobwebs seemed to clear. She looked at him with stark clarity and a
cold, rational understanding. "The metal put his eyes out, didn't it?"
Tom nodded once. "I thought so."

She lay quietly, staring at the ceiling, while Tom wondered what was
going through her mind. Her lack of reaction confused him, considering
the overall state of her emotions. Finally, he couldn't resist commenting,
"I expected some tears."

"What is there to cry about? What good does it do?"

"Makes you feel better?"

"I'm not the one who needs to feel better." Glancing over at Tom again,
she asked, "Is that the big secret everyone's been keeping from me?"

"Yes."

"Stupid. Like I wouldn't notice." A pause, then, "How...how bad is
it, really, Tom? How does his face look?"

"Pretty awful, right now, but I think it looks worse than it is. The
burns are minor, and the doctor says they'll heal without scarring.
Some of the cuts are pretty deep, but they're thin...hairline scars
at the worst. Once the swelling and bruises go away, he'll look a lot
more like himself."

"What about his eyes?"

Tom took a careful breath, willing his voice to stay even and his stomach
to stay in place. "They, ummm...they had to remove all the damaged tissue
to prevent infection. He'll need reconstructive surgery, after he's
had more time to heal." At Judy's faint choking sound, he hurried to
assure her, "Dr. Travis says they're real good at this stuff, now. He
says they can put his face back together so nobody'll be able to tell
the difference."

"That's the same thing they said about my leg," Judy murmured. "Stick
in a little steel, a little silicon, graft this muscle, replace that
bone, lube up those plastic joints and presto! Good as new! Except,
it won't work and it'll hurt all the goddamn time and you'll rust in
the shower, but hey! You've got your leg back!"

"Jude..."

"All those replacement parts, and you're still not a whole person!"

"Maybe you should go bionic," Tom suggested, in a desperate attempt
at humor.

A slightly hysterical giggle met his words. "What kind of warranty
do they offer?" She giggled again and covered her eyes with one hand
to hide her tears. After a silent moment, she whispered, "Thank you
for making me laugh."

"Any time."

"Tom, will you do me a favor?"

"Name it."

"Tell Harry I want to see him."

"I'll tell him, but I don't know if it'll do any good."

"Please. Can't you make his doctor understand that I need to see him?"

"It isn't the doctor. In fact, they moved him out of ICU tonight, into
a private room, so all the restrictions are lifted. He can see anybody
he wants and do pretty much anything he feels up to."

"Then what's the problem? I know that look, Tom. Something's wrong."

"Not exactly wrong." Tom sighed wearily. "Look, Jude, you know how
Harry is. He deals with things his own way. Keeps to himself. And when
he's upset or afraid, he doesn't...share it with anyone. That's just
how he does things."

"Is that what he's doing now?"

"He's totally shut down. He goes through the motions - does what he's
told, answers questions, pretends to listen when you talk to him - but
he's a blank. He's just...packed up and gone away. Dr. Travis thinks
he's suicidal. Penhall thinks he's angry and trying to punish us. Fuller...Fuller
doesn't know what to think, and it's making him crazy."

"What do you think?" Hoffs whispered.

"I think he's hiding. Trying to be invisible, so we'll all leave him
alone. I think this is a really exaggerated version of what he always
does when he's scared, and I think, when he comes to terms with what's
happened, he'll come back."

"That sounds like the Harry I know."

"But until he does, there's no way to reach him."

"I understand."

In spite of the tears and pain in her eyes, Tom could see that she
meant it. He smiled wanly at her and squeezed her hand. "I'll tell him
you want to see him, and I'll do my best to get him here, but don't..."

"No, Tom, don't worry. I can wait. If you just...make sure he knows
that I'm waiting for him, then whatever he decides is okay. Really."

"Consider it done."

*** *** ***

The room was quiet. Finally, blessedly quiet. So quiet that he could
hear the rain spattering softly on the window. After the awful noise
and stress and fuss of the move from ICU to here, the quiet came as
an incredible relief.

Harry curled up a little more tightly in the chair and propped his
head against the cold glass of the window. He was unbearably tired,
but it never occurred to him to get back into bed. The chair provided
a warm, closed in and comfortable space, and he liked listening to the
rain. It made him feel as though he were part of the world again, not
locked up in some horrible room full of beeping machines and whispering
nurses, where he wasn't allowed to get up and walk around or sit in
a chair or listen to the rain or do any of the simple, normal, pointless
things that made him feel human.

That soft sound of water on glass was about all the contact with the
world that he could handle right now. It helped him relax and drift
toward sleep, without the familiar knot of fear in his stomach that
usually came with solitude. He hadn't been able to sleep in the ICU,
except when they pumped him full of drugs or when Penhall kept vigil
beside him, and that hadn't been real sleep. But now, thanks to the
quiet and the comforting rain, he felt safe and warm and a little fuzzy
around the edges, as if all he needed was one good yawn and he'd drop
right off.

The soft tap of a knuckle on the door jerked him out of a light doze
and brought his head up with a start.

Harry felt his stomach twist with tension, and he wanted to burst into
tears. Why couldn't they go away and leave him alone? Were they afraid
he was going to jump out of the stupid window? All he wanted to do was
sleep!

Then his visitor stepped into the room and said, calmly, "Hey, Iokage.
How's it going?"

Hanson! Harry's face softened in relief, and for a brief moment, Tom
thought that his old friend was going to come out of hiding to greet
him. But in the next heartbeat, Harry was gone again, leaving only a
battered, silent shell of himself sitting in the chair. Inside the prison
of his own head, he was laughing and crying and telling Tom how much
he'd missed him and how glad he was to see him and how scared he was
and how being in the hospital sucked and how totally screwed life was
and how much it meant to him to hear that wonderful, familiar voice
again. But none of it reached his friend. None of it got past the wall
of isolation and despair that surrounded him.

Tom watched the welcome and the life drain out of Harry's face, and
reminded himself not to take it personally. As many times as he had
seen Harry do this exact same thing to other people, he had secretly
hoped that he would rate special treatment, and he had underestimated
how difficult it would be to confront that cold, tight, withdrawn look
when it was directed at him. His own words to Penhall echoed again in
his head, saying patiently, "It's just Harry being Harry. Don't make
a big deal out of it." Well, it was time to put his own advice into
action.

"Mind if I come in?" he asked, as he crossed the room to sit on the
edge of the bed.

Harry's bandaged gaze followed his progress with unnerving accuracy.
He made no comment, as Tom settled himself on the bed facing the chair
and the dark, rain-splattered window.

"Whatcha doing?"

Ioki hesitated for a moment, then answered, "Listening to the rain."

Hanson grimaced. "It's been falling non-stop since the quake. The whole
city's about to be washed into the river. And I think my uniform is
growing mildew." He got no response - not that he had expected one -
and his voice trailed off into silence.

Neither man moved or spoke for a long, slow minute, while the muffled
sound of the storm seeped into the room. Hanson took the time to really
look at his friend, and he suddenly realized that most of what he saw
in Ioki's face was exhaustion - not withdrawal or anger or fear - just
simple exhaustion. The man needed some sleep. This was something Hanson
could empathize with.

"Listen, Harry, I'm not gonna stay long," he said. "I've been working
twelve hour shifts, and I'm almost as tired as you are. I just wanted
to stop in and say hello, since they took the Do Not Disturb sign off
your door." He paused, then added, "I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner.
I wanted to be here - so did Fuller - but the doctors didn't give us
a choice."

"I know."

"Good." A wry smile strayed over his face, and he asked, with a laugh
lurking in his voice, "Did Penhall and Fuller drive you nuts tonight?"

Harry answered, in a perfectly flat tone, "They mean well."

"Yeah, but they gave you a headache, anyway, huh?"

"Everything does."

"Meaning me, too. Okay, I get the message, and I'm outta here."

He started to get to his feet, but Ioki halted him with a soft, "Wait."

Hanson obediently sank back onto the mattress and waited, while Ioki
collected his thoughts and mustered the energy to voice them. When he
finally spoke, he didn't sound flat and emotionless anymore. He sounded
scared.

"Penhall said you found us."

Tom nodded, then remembered that the gesture was wasted on Harry. "Yes.
Me, Fuller and Blowfish."

"He said...Judy would have died, if you hadn't come when you did."

"She had a close call."

"Is she okay? The truth, Tom, please."

'Great,' Hanson thought, 'more of the truth. Why doesn't anyone appreciate
the value of a good lie anymore?' Out loud, he said, "The truth is that
she's out of the woods, but her leg is a mess. The doctors are talking
about multiple surgeries, artificial joints, muscle transplants, all
kinds of heavy-duty stuff just to get her walking again. And it may
not work."

Harry scrunched up a little tighter in his chair, as though trying
to physically protect himself from the import of Tom's words. "Have
you seen her?"

"I just came from her room."

"How...?" He broke off, fighting to keep his emotions dammed up behind
his defensive wall, while the tears crept into his voice in spite of
his efforts. "How is she doing?"

"It's hard to say. She's in a lot of pain, and she's scared. Angry,
too, I think. But all her emotional reactions are skewed by the drugs
they're giving her, so one minute she's crying and the next minute she's
telling dumb jokes." He shot Ioki a searching look and added, "She wants
to see you. She asked me to tell you that."

Ioki stiffened. His gauze-white gaze shifted away from Hanson, and
the shadows almost visibly thickened around him. He took an unsteady
breath and opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out.

"Harry, she's your partner and your friend, and she's worried about
you. Can't you do this? For her? It would mean a lot to her."

He shook his head fractionally.

"She knows what happened. It won't freak her out to see you like th..."

"Stop. Just...stop it. I can't...I don't want to see anyone."

"Okay." The wheedling note drained from Hanson's voice, and he shifted
back into his previous calm, undemanding mode. "She'll understand."
He got to his feet again and headed toward the door. "And so do I, pal.
Get some sleep, and I'll talk to you later."

"Tom..."

Hanson paused in the doorway to glance back over his shoulder. "Yeah?"

"Thank you, for saving my partner."

"You're welcome." It was not lost on Hanson that Ioki had not thanked
him for saving his own life, but the young officer knew better than
to comment on this omission. Maybe, someday, Harry would learn to be
grateful for that as well.